


Tripping Into Madness

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: An alien artifact throws Trip's world cattywompus. (10/11/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Beta: Kathy Rose, with many thanks  


* * *

Trip sat on a bed in sickbay, his hands clenched around its cool metal edge. He couldn't remember how he got there, which was a pretty scary thought, so he tried not to think. Instead, he focused on keeping his eyes shut.

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he'd be all right. And maybe the others would be all right, too. Because what he was seeing right now certainly couldn't be real. And if that wasn't real, then what he'd seen earlier wasn't real, either.

If he just didn't look.

The sounds were still there, though. The voices, talking to him, whispered phrases swirling past his ears. Even now, when he was probably the closest to "normal" as he'd felt since he'd examined the artifact this morning, the voices were buzzing at the edges of his consciousness. He'd tried the old "hands over ears" trick from his childhood, but the volume wasn't affected at all. So he'd tried humming, then shouting, trying to drown out the voices. When that hadn't worked, either, it had seriously freaked him out. It meant that the voices were inside his head. Which would make him—what? Nuts? Crazy?

Other than the voices and the visions, he felt pretty normal right now. Then he spat a sharp laugh. Normal. That was a laugh.

He heard someone moving nearby, and he jumped. It was probably Phlox, it was fine, everything would be fine. He just needed to relax. He took a breath, then rolled his shoulders. Lastly, he unclenched his hands, splaying them flat against the mattress below him.

There was a voice from in front of him. It didn't seem like the other voices. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

It was Malcolm. Malcolm was there, standing there, watching him, talking to him, but that wasn't possible because Malcolm was dead. He'd been dead there on the floor in front of him and Hoshi too she was gone and Malcolm couldn't be there because he -

Trip slammed his eyes shut again.

* * *

Trip had been excited that morning; chomping at the bit, wanting to examine the alien artifact they'd found earlier that day. The darn thing had been drifting in an unpopulated area of space, and was unlike anything he'd seen before—their scans just rolled off it. He was fascinated. He had to know what it did.

Archer wouldn't let him start work until Malcolm's team had set up a containment area in one part of the launch bay. So, by the time he got to fiddling with the device, he was pretty eager.

Maybe this all was his fault. Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious, he'd have been more cautious, and Hoshi and Malcolm would still be alive.

But at the time, all he was was happy to get working on the thing. He remembered stepping through the opening in the barrier that Malcolm had placed around it, then sitting on the floor in front of it. Malcolm was at his side as they began their evaluations, Hoshi beside Malcolm, trying to translate the scrolling writings on its casing.

The artifact wasn't particularly big, Trip had thought. Maybe about a meter square, and oblong, its flat bottom cushioned in some padding that Malcolm's group had brought in. Trip had passed a careful hand over it, the grey substance cold under his palm. As his finger brushed over a joint in its otherwise smooth surface, he felt more than heard a "snick," then something pricked his skin.

"Damn," he said, bringing his finger up to his mouth.

Hoshi looked up and said, "Don't!", but he was already sucking on his injured finger. He removed it under her blistering gaze.

"Don't what?" Trip asked, staring down at the offending digit, then back at her.

She shook her head in exasperation. "We don't know what this thing is. Maybe you should see Phlox."

Trip smiled, holding up his finger. "For this little thing?"

A shadow passed across his vision, and that's when it started.

* * *

Phlox's voice came from just in front of him. "Can you tell me what is happening, Commander?"

Trip shook his head, his eyes closed, his hands again clenched around edge of the sickbay bed. He held on firmly, trying to anchor himself in the storm swirling around him. There were voices, whispers, sometimes shouts, but he couldn't understand them.

He felt like he should, but they were just beyond his reach. Maybe if he concentrated...

He heard Malcolm's voice from nearby. "...seemed to be seeing things. He started humming, then shouting."

That wasn't possible, Trip thought. Malcolm was dead. He'd seen him die back in the landing bay. Trip heard the voices swirl, louder now. He could almost make them out.

Phlox's voice came again. "What were you seeing, Commander?"

Trip didn't respond. He couldn't. He almost had it, what the voices were trying to tell him. Maybe if he simply kept very still.

Malcolm, closer now, asked, "Trip?"

Trip felt a hand on his arm and he flinched away. He couldn't—it wasn't possible—it was everything he could do not to jump off that table and run. He felt his breathing speed up and he froze in place. God, this was all..."Too much," he said aloud. He opened his eyes.

* * *

The shadow passed and there was a loud, clear "ping" from the device, and a flash of light filled the landing bay. Trip felt a whoosh and something heavy was thrown forward onto him.

He blinked his eyes open and lay there, stunned, unsure how much time had passed. There was something heavy across his chest. It was fine, though. It didn't hurt. And it was peaceful, staring up at ceiling, the room completely silent around him.

No, wait. His ears were ringing.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side. Malcolm was there on ground, eyes staring off at nothing. Oh, he thought. He pushed the heavy thing off his chest and sat, unsteadily, looking down. It was Hoshi. Her eyes were also open, and she lay there, so still. Dead, he thought numbly. They were both dead.

He felt hands on him and he struggled to push them away. There was a sharp voice, "Trip!" and he looked up from his place on the deck to see Malcolm standing there. Then he looked down and saw Malcolm there on the deck, dead, so obviously dead, Hoshi's body beside him. He looked up again and now saw Hoshi beside Malcolm, looking worried. As she reached a hand in his direction, he scrambled back, beyond her reach.

Hoshi said something about Sickbay, but he didn't catch the rest because suddenly there were loud voices all around him. He covered his head with his hands, trying to block out the noise.

* * *

Trip saw Malcolm in front of him, looking whole and fine, if worried. Phlox was there, too, right beside Malcolm as if nothing was wrong, as if Malcolm wasn't dead.

Phlox said, "Can you describe what is happening?"

Trip tore his eyes away from Malcolm, instead focusing on his hands on the biobed. They were clenched around the edge of the bed again, so he purposely relaxed them. Then he closed his eyes. The voices were there, louder now, becoming clearer, but he still wasn't able to understand what they were saying.

Suddenly all the voices rang out together in one word. "Dead!"

Trip smiled without mirth. "No kidding," he said flatly. "I know that. I was there, remember?"

Phlox's voice came from in front of him. "Commander?"

Trip looked up, but purposely kept his eyes on Phlox. Maybe if he didn't look at Malcolm, he'd go away. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he'd seen Malcolm and Hoshi there, both dead. He didn't believe in ghosts, so this must be something else, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. He waved a hand vaguely in Malcolm's direction. Dead dead, because they're both dead, he thought. Him and Hoshi.

"Dead," he heard again, the voices quite clear.

"But they're not," he said aloud. "Malcolm's right here. He's not dead."

The doctor looked at him, clearly puzzled. "No, Mr. Tucker. The Lieutenant is quite alive."

"I saw them die. It flashed, and then they were dead." He let his gaze move to Malcolm. "You're not here. I saw you die. And the voices..." He stopped speaking when he saw the look of shock on Malcolm's face.

"Voices, Commander?" Phlox said calmly, as if what he'd just said was as normal as sneezing.

Trip flashed Malcolm an apologetic smile, then turned back to Phlox. "Since they died."

"Do you hear these voices now?"

Trip nodded. "Yes, but I can't really understand—"

"Dead!" The voices said loudly in chorus.

Trip clapped his hands over his ears. "I know they're dead, damn it. I was there. No need to shout."

"Start from the beginning, please," Phlox said as he began bustling over him.

Trip tried to explain what he saw. "The device, we were, um, it snapped at me, and then Hoshi said not to, that..." At Phlox's look of puzzlement, he tried again. "There was a flash, and there were voices, and if they aren't dead, you know I don't believe in ghosts, so he must be something else, and..." Trip let his voice trail off. He knew he wasn't being clear.

Phlox turned to Malcolm and asked him for his version of the events, and they stepped away slightly. Like they couldn't discuss it right in front of him. Like he wouldn't understand.

Well, isn't this just the cat's pajamas, Trip thought. I'm trying to tell them what's wrong, and they think I'm nuts. Fabulous.

Maybe he was nuts. Whatever. He'd figure it out later. But right now, he needed to find a way to explain.

To explain what, exactly?

He tried to remember. It had been so clear, just a second ago. So very important...

He heard Phlox saying something to him, but, although he could hear the words through the chorus of voices, he couldn't understand the meaning. Everything was so muddled. He caught something about an antipsychotic before he felt a tug on his arm, his uniform sleeve being pushed up. He glanced down as the doctor injected something into his arm.

* * *

Trip woke up feeling bleary. Cautiously, he sat up. He was dizzy, but the voices were gone. He smiled slightly, enjoying the silence.

Someone moved near his biobed, and his eyes tracked slowly, finally focusing on the doctor as he stopped directly in front of him.

"How are you feeling?" Phlox asked.

"Where did the voices go?" Trip asked, surprised to hear his words come out so slowly.

Phlox flashed a light into his eyes, then ran a scanner over him. "I gave you a medication which should help with that."

"I feel funny. Slow. Dizzy."

"Side effects. They should pass."

"Malcolm and Hoshi?" Trip asked, surprised it took him this long to remember, and that he didn't feel more upset. Must be the drugs. He felt confused, his feelings dulled.

Phlox nodded. "They're both fine."

"Not dead?"

"No, completely alive."

"How long have I been here?"

"Just since yesterday."

Trip sat there a moment while Phlox worked. When the doctor stepped back, Trip asked, "What's wrong with me?"

Phlox put down his scanner. "I'm not sure yet. If you're feeling up to it, I have some questions I need to ask you, which will help with the diagnosis. Try to answer as precisely as you can." Trip nodded slowly, then the doctor asked, "Have you ever experienced voices arguing in your head?"

"You mean before yesterday?" Trip asked with a slight smile.

"Including yesterday."

Trip nodded. "Okay. Then, no." At Phlox's surprised look, he continued. "They weren't arguing. More like talking at me."

"Do they seem to come from inside you?"

Trip thought about this. "I'm not sure. I think so. Kind of, maybe." He raised his hands to cover his ears. " 'Cause I can't block them out."

As Phlox went through a series of questions, ranging from headaches ("No") to sleepwalking ("No") to questions with obvious psychiatric overtones, a thought suddenly came into his head, as if placed there from outside. If he could just see the device again, spend some time with it, he might be able to figure all this out.

"Commander?" Phlox said, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry, doc." Trip said. "Meds making me spacey."

"Are you all right to proceed?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ask me that one again."

"Have you been thinking thoughts that seemed to be someone else's?"

Interesting question, Trip thought. He wasn't sure how to answer. That thought about seeing the device again—that one seemed to have come from nowhere. But was it someone else's? God, he hoped not. That sounded like really bad news. He heard himself mutter, "Thoughts just do that sometimes, though." The voices were bad enough, and the visions from earlier—he'd had enough trouble without that as well. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. He felt dizzy, and slow. He felt...he let his head fall forward, and stared down at his knees.

"Mr. Tucker?" Phlox asked, tapping him on the forearm.

It took all Trip's strength to raise his head.

"You should lie down, get some rest. We can continue this later."

Trip nodded and lay down, staring up at the lights lining the ceiling above him.

* * *

Trip woke—well, maybe "woke" was too strong a word, he thought. He wasn't sure he'd been sleeping; more like staring numbly at the ceiling for several hours. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to clear his head. These drugs may be keeping the voices away, but otherwise they sucked.

The doors to sickbay opened, and Trip heard footsteps coming closer. The curtain surrounding his bed was pushed aside, revealing Malcolm.

"Is it okay if I visit?" Malcolm asked, seeming hesitant.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Why are you asking? Am I making you nervous?"

Malcolm stepped forward, letting the curtain close behind him. With a tight smile, he said, "Well, you had been fairly insistent that I was dead."

Trip rolled over onto his side, propping his head with one hand. "Well, have a seat, dead man."

Malcolm pulled a chair up to Trip's bedside. "Are you sure? My presence made you—"

"I'm sorry about that," Trip said quickly. "For earlier. I was wasn't really myself."

"Are you yourself now?"

Trip stopped a moment and thought about the question. "Not really, no. But it's a different 'not myself' than before." At Malcolm's questioning look, he said, "I'm not sure how to describe it. I feel slower, not—not right. Phlox said it's the meds, so if I fade out on you, it's not you, it's..." he tapped the side of his head, then shrugged. "These drugs kind of suck, but at least I don't think you're the walking dead."

As Malcolm sat, Trip asked, "What happened in the launch bay, with the device?"

"Happened?"

"What did you see?"

Malcolm hesitated a moment, then said, "We were working on the device. I was trying to get some readings with my scanner. The next thing I knew, you were whispering that we were dead."

Trip could feel himself trembling. Malcolm must have noticed his anxiety, because he asked, "Are you certain you want to hear this?"

Trip nodded, afraid to speak because his voice would betray him.

"When we tried to talk to you, you backed away. You began shouting." Malcolm looked distressed. In a quiet voice, he said, "Then you were just sitting there, rocking, eyes closed, hands over your ears and humming."

"Sounds bad," Trip said, trying to break the mood.

"It was," Malcolm said seriously.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Does Phlox think it has anything to do with the artifact?"

Malcolm peered at him, as if unsure how to answer. He shook his head. "He doesn't think so. We evaluated the device, and—" Malcolm shrugged. "You received a small cut on your finger from a rough edge on the seam. We found nothing in the seam: no devices, no chemicals. And Phlox found nothing in your bloodstream."

"So all this..." Trip lifted one arm, sweepingly taking in the entire room. "...is just me?"

Malcolm hesitated again, then replied in a soft voice, "Phlox thinks so."

"Wow," Trip said, letting himself fall back onto his pillow.

"Yeah," Malcolm replied.

* * *

After giving him his pills, Phlox had dimmed the lights in sickbay, and Trip settled back on the mattress, his mind swirling. Pills, pills, pills; all you can eat, as far as the eye could see; pills pills pills, for days now, pills. At least they were better than the hyposprays. It was funny, actually. The pills made him feel slow and lethargic, and made it hard to think, his thoughts either coming too slow, or like now, all in a jumble. Or maybe that was the illness. But the pills made it harder to think _right_. At least with the illness he could think.

If he could just get back to the artifact, maybe he could figure out what had happened, why he had those visions, heard the voices. Maybe he could figure out why he was so messed up now.

If he could get it to prick him again...

That was sort of an odd thought. Maybe that was another of those Thoughts That Seemed to Be Someone Else's that Phlox had mentioned.

There was no way they'd allow him near it, at least not in his current state. Anyway, Phlox didn't think his "illness," if that's what this was, had anything to do with the device. Trip couldn't believe that the two things weren't related, though. They had to be. He'd had no symptoms prior to the artifact, nothing at all, and now here he was, off duty for the foreseeable future, and probably going to be sent to a psychiatric hospital next trip back to Earth. Probably never be able to serve in Starfleet again. Probably stuck on meds for life. Who knows if he'd even end up stable enough to live on his own? He certainly wasn't feeling particularly stable right now, despite the medications.

So why not try the device again? Things certainly couldn't get any worse.

He rolled over onto his side, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. He had to be patient. His time would come. He reckoned he just needed to wait and to figure out a plan.

He already knew his first step. He needed to stop taking the meds. They were making his perceptions fuzzy, and it was too hard to think while on them. He figured he could deal with the voices and the visions, for the most part, so long as he could work and plan.

Well, he hoped he could deal with them.

He'd just hoard the pills, pretend to take them, but hide them as soon as Phlox left him alone. He could do that. Just a couple days without them and his mind should be clearer, then he'd take his next step: get himself to that contraption.

* * *

Two nights later, Trip realised that it was time. Phlox was out somewhere, and his tech was working on something in one of the side rooms. Trip had been hiding his pills instead of taking them. Soon enough, Phlox would do a blood test again, and would notice the changes in his blood chemistry. Worse was that he was constantly on edge, waiting for his symptoms to come back. But he'd had to wait—it was only just today that he'd started feeling normal again, like he could really think and function.

Trip slid out of bed. He tiptoed to the drawer where he'd seen Phlox place his hyposprays, knelt down and, with a pair of tweezers he'd liberated from one of Phlox's kits earlier, he began work on the lock. It opened quickly and he reached inside the drawer, grabbing a hypo. He programmed it for a sedative, then slipped out the door into the corridor, hoping no one would see him. Actually, he didn't really care if they saw him, so long as they didn't move quickly enough to stop him. If they tried, he had the hypo. And he didn't have far to go—the launch bay was on the same deck as sickbay. He started running, his bare feet making soft pats on the deck plating as he moved.

God, he hoped the artifact would still be located where he'd last left it. He hadn't even thought of them moving it.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and peered around the corner—there was no one there. He triggered the launch bay doors and stepped inside.

One crewman was working underneath one of the shuttles, and Trip slipped by him without incident. He walked to the barrier that they'd set up around the artifact, then stepped inside. Quickly, knowing that he didn't have much time—either Phlox would find him missing, or his madness would overtake him—he began working.

He tried to reproduce what happened before. Moving his hand over the seam, he jerked away just as a needle came out. It was tiny, but unmistakable, and Trip sat on the floor staring at it. Why had it come out for him, but no one else had found it? What was special about him?

He was the first, he thought. Now it would only respond to him.

"Right," he whispered. He held a shaky finger over the needle, and hesitated. He pressed down.

He heard screaming.

There was a flurry of activity around him, and he felt himself being moved. There were voices...

He saw images of Malcolm, and Hoshi. Working beside him on the artifact. Then the flash. And they were dead. Lying there, dead. And it wasn't a vision this time, but real, and he screamed...

Malcolm was standing over him, but it wasn't Malcolm, it was...someone was speaking to him, but it wasn't Malcolm, or Hoshi. They wanted him to...there was something they needed him to do...he listened hard, holding himself still. He could just understand some of what they were saying. They said it again. And again. The message repeated over, and over, each time louder and clearer, until Trip jammed his hands against his ears, trying to block it out. "I get it," he shouted into the din. "I get it."

He woke in sickbay, his throat sore. He was on his back on a biobed, the room a flurry of activity around him, and he was struggling against the restraints, and the voices repeated their message over, and over, and over, and he struggled, and Phlox came at him with a hypo, and he felt -

Trip woke in sickbay, his entire body aching. Experimentally, he tried lifting an arm, and found that he could—the restraints were gone. He let his arm fall to the mattress, and it seemed to move in slow motion. He was lethargic, everything was slow, he was slow, he couldn't think. He could tell he'd been drugged. He was sore. He must have been struggling. He remembered the restraints, and shouting.

It was quiet now. The voices were gone. Thank God. He closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

Trip sat on the biobed, trying to hear Malcolm through the chorus. The voices had been gone for a bit, but that was at a level of medication that had incapacitated him, so Phlox had backed off the dosage. With that change, they were back. That was okay, though—he was growing used to them. Now, at least, they said more than "Dead". Now they said a great deal.

Malcolm was sitting in the chair beside his bed, reading something aloud from a padd. Trip had missed most of what he was saying, but that was all right. He had something to say himself.

"We aren't related enough," Trip said, and Malcolm stopped reading. Trip needed to explain, now that he knew what was going on. He only hoped that he'd be clear enough for Malcolm to understand him. Maybe help him. Help them. He tried again. "We aren't related enough, to the people who made it. So there was a problem. It wasn't intended to be harmful."

"What wasn't?" Malcolm asked.

"It wasn't meant for us. When it pricked me, it was testing. Then it imprinted. But it wasn't meant for us, so there was a problem."

Malcolm sat straighter in his seat and put the padd down. "You mean the device? The artifact?"

Trip nodded. "We need to get rid of it. Get it off the ship. Or it will happen. You'll die, Hoshi will die, anyone there. It was showing me what would happen. A warning. A message."

It's not meant for you...

"It's not meant for us," Trip said, echoing what the voices told him.

"How do you know all this?"

"They told me. They're telling me," Trip said, his voice rising. "They're telling me it needs to go. That you'll be safe, but it needs to go."

"The voices are part of your illness," Malcolm said, casting an alarmed look around sickbay.

Trip spoke over him. "Or you'll both die. You'll all die. What I saw will come true."

As Phlox stepped towards them and rapidly injected something into Trip's arm, Malcolm asked, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Trip said, suddenly drowsy. Phlox helped him lie back on the bed, and his eyes drifted shut.

"If we get rid of this thing, will you go back to...will you be well again, Trip?"

"I don't know. I can't exactly ask them."

"Why not?"

Trip laughed. "It's a recording."

* * *

Trip felt odd. Something was seriously wrong. He sat up suddenly, looking frantically around sickbay.

He realised what was different and he smiled. The voices were gone. And he felt okay. Not great, but okay.

Phlox stepped to his side, smiling broadly as he ran a scanner over him.

"You know, I feel all right," Trip said. He tapped his ear. "No voices."

"Good," Phlox replied. "I've taken you off the medications."

Trip felt a bit of panic. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Phlox stopped scanning and looked at him. "I mean, earlier, when I stopped taking them..." Trip felt himself blushing. "I'm sorry about that, for not taking them, but I had to, I..." He sighed. "Anyway, sorry."

"Apology accepted, Commander. You should know, however, that your current lack of auditory hallucinations may not be due totally to the medications." Phlox began scanning again. "Lieutenant Reed convinced the Captain to, as he said, 'ditch the thing.' The device has been off-ship since last night. I suspect that you may feel a bit more stable with it gone."

"Oh," Trip said in surprise.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Malcolm asked, stepping to Trip's bedside.

"Great, actually. Phlox said that I'm 'bout cured." Trip smiled broadly, then his brow furrowed. "Um, he told me what you did, getting rid of the thing." At Malcolm's answering nod, he said. "I thought you didn't believe me."

"I wasn't sure I did."

"But..."

"But it seemed a chance we should take. We put it back where we'd found it—with a warning buoy, of course."

Trip smiled. "I'm just disappointed that I didn't get to really figure that thing out."

"I think you learnt more than you wanted."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Trip pretended to be wistful. "Still..."

"You are kidding," Malcolm said flatly.

"You betcha." Trip broke into a grin. "Happy to have light-years between us and that thing."

"Aeons."

"Excuse me?"

"Light-aeons," Malcolm said, starting to smile. "I was thinking, rather than years..."

Trip's brow furrowed. "That's not a very good joke."

"No, I know, but I felt a joke of some sort was in order."

"Because..."

"Because I've missed having you around. Well, whole and around."

"Missed my sparkling repartee?"

"Yes, trading quips with Hoshi isn't quite the same." Malcolm gave him a twisted smile. "Which brings up the next order of business." He unzipped a pocket in the arm of his uniform and pulled out a small data disc. "Hoshi and I thought you might like this." He held it out towards Trip, one eyebrow raised as he waited.

Trip stared down at the disc. "What is it?"

"Something we both thought you might like. For you to listen to later."

Trip held out a cautious hand and took the object. "Um, thank you. I think."

* * *

Trip placed the disc that Malcolm had given him into his computer. It was his first night in his own quarters since they'd found the artifact, and his first chance to hear whatever was on the recording. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it or dreading it.

As the recording began, his room filled with the sound of giggling, then Hoshi's voice came through. "We dedicate this disc to Trip Tucker."

Then Malcolm's voice began. "On the occasion of his getting out of sickbay."

"Again," Hoshi interrupted with a laugh. There was the sound of shuffling, then she continued. "We put this together when we realised that you were going to be okay."

"For you to use if the silence becomes too deafening, without the voices," Malcolm said.

Then it began in earnest and Trip burst out laughing.

Gregorian chant.


End file.
